


Sherlolly 12: Sherlock, Alone

by George_Sand



Series: George_Sand Sherlolly Series 1 [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Making Love, Mature but nice, Molly orgasm, Sex, Sherlock's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9523445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_Sand/pseuds/George_Sand
Summary: Sherlock reflects on making love to Molly.Part 12 of George_Sand Sherlolly Series 1.  Please read in order, they build on each other.John climbs up the stairs of 221B after a day at the surgery to find Sherlock on the couch, eyes closed, hands steepled.  He grins broadly as he addresses Sherlock, “Well, well.  Had a nice time last night, did we?  When did you get home?”Sherlock, eyes still closed, says, “a few hours ago.”  Then he smiles, “Yes.”John claps his hands, “Good on you!  Finally!”Sherlock hesitates, then asks, “Do they usually cry?”John’s eyes bulge and he yells “Sherlock Bloody Holmes!  Is there anything you can’t do?!”





	

          John climbs up the stairs of 221B after a day at the surgery to find Sherlock on the couch, eyes closed, hands steepled.  He hasn't seen Sherlock since yesterday. He grins broadly as he addresses Sherlock,

           “Well, well.  Had a nice time last night, did we?  When did you get home?”

          Sherlock, eyes still closed, says, “a few hours ago.”  Then he smiles, “Yes.”

          John claps his hands, “Good on you!  Finally!”

          For a moment, Sherlock isn’t sure whether to be embarrassed by or bask in John’s reaction.  Then, he says, cautiously, “A gentleman does not mention some subjects in polite company,” eliciting a snort from John, “but I’ve been meditating on a certain question and I’d like your opinion.”

          John balks, only half-mocking, “My opinion?  Asks Sherlock Holmes, with whose massive intellect I could never hope to compete?  By all means, mate, ask away!”

          Sherlock hesitates, then asks, “Do they usually cry?”

          John’s eyes bulge and he yells “Sherlock Bloody Holmes!  Is there anything you _can’t_ do?!” He slaps his own forehead and looks at the ceiling, smiling hugely in disbelief. 

          Sherlock, still cautious, asks, “Is that good?”

          John shakes his head and says to himself, “Unbelievable!”  Massaging his forehead he walks upstairs, again saying, “Unbelievable”.  Then from the top of the stairs, “Yes, Sherlock, it’s very good.”

          Sherlock closes his eyes and permits himself a small smile.

          His mind wanders back, over, though, and around his night with Molly.  He finds that his recollections are uncharacteristically convoluted.  His photographic memory and usually linear thought processes seem to have abandoned him last night, and all that remains are hazy impressions. Impressions regarding how gently they had started – Molly’s tears when they first came together.  Later, the sight of his own hand on her thigh as he strummed the tendons behind her knee with his tongue.  The feel of his hands chafing her breasts.  The fingernail marks in her palms when she relaxed from clenching them so hard.  Coming so much sooner than he wanted, and Molly’s patience and acceptance. 

          Sleeping next to her skin.  Waking as she kissed his fingers, and experimenting some more.  Sleeping under her.  Waking her by kissing her fingers, and experimenting yet again.  And again.  Not penetrating each time, not achieving orgasm each time, but learning more about each other and enjoying themselves.  Immensely.  Finally, this morning, discouraged by his body’s propensity to come prematurely, he had worked on Molly, not allowing her to reciprocate, as has become one of their favorite games. 

          Last night he had been distressed to hear her quiet sob when he entered her for the first time, but this morning he was utterly shocked when she shrieked with laughter, then dissolved into a rush of tears moments later.  It was the only thing he clearly remembered.  Eyes clamped, breath ragged, tears flowing, she had groped blindly for him, and he caught her and held her close for several long minutes.  Then her eyes had opened and she had giggled joyously as she said, a little drunkenly, “Oh my goodness, Love.”  She had nuzzled into him and he had held her, tightly, until she stirred again.  Eyes clear, chuckling a little, she had looked at him and said, “Thank you, Love.”

          He had replied, concerned, “Molly, what happened, did I hurt you?”

           “What happened?! Sherlock, you just gave me one of the best moments of my life!”

          At that statement, it had slowly dawned on Sherlock that he had just seen Molly orgasm.  He hadn’t flattered himself that they could achieve it their first time together, and hadn’t thought about what to expect if they did, but Molly’s reaction had taken him completely aback.  Loud laughter, desperate sobs and slurred words were not what he could have predicted from a simple release of dopamine in Molly’s brain.  He chastised himself for allowing his knowledge of brain chemistry to dull and resolved to study it later.  But right now, on his couch, as he considered all that he could remember of last night (not much) and this morning (almost everything), he was only able to draw one conclusion.  It was good.

**Author's Note:**

> This work has not been beta-ed, please leave constructive criticism!


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